At Wit's End
by AidenAils
Summary: DM/HG & BZ/PP:: Draco Malfoy has annoyed Blaise one too many times. So Blaise steals the one thing Malfoy likes most about himself: His wit. But what happens when Hermione learns of his plans? Will she help or hinder Blaise's efforts?
1. And Thee Shall Taketh Revenge!

If one had the nerve to ask Draco Malfoy what he liked most about himself, one would receive three ridiculously plausible answers

If one had the nerve to ask Draco Malfoy what he liked most about himself, one would receive three ridiculously plausible answers. Draco might have said, "My disturbingly grey eyes that can penetrate your deepest, darkest, most coveted secrets with a rather unnatural ease." Or he might have answered, "My Adonis-like physique which oftentimes causes jealousy amongst men and women alike –though I must admit I find the constant ogling of my body by members of my own sex to be a trifle uncomfortable." Or, he might have said, "My astoundingly acerbic wit which could very well burn through the ancient, stone walls of Hogwarts." And he would have uttered all of this with a completely straight face and perhaps a slightly sardonic brow.

Nonetheless, anyone who knew Draco Malfoy knew what he treasured the most. And it was, in fact, his wit. Sure, Harry Potter had embarked on numerous life-threatening adventures… but you have to admit… he isn't known to have a deliciously snarky personality (actually… I don't recall him ever _having_ a personality… It's a **very** controversial issue, but that's a debate we'll have to partake in at a later date). Same thing with the Weasley twins. Sure, they almost burned Umbridge to a crisp (you won't hear any protests from me), almost blew up the school (okay… I'm protesting a bit here… a teensy weensy protest, mind you), and almost killed Ron with the Unbreakable Vow (well, now I've incurred a full-blown riot; trumpets, drums, and fluorescent _"Ickle Ronnikins is oh so Precious!"_ banners included), but they never _said_ anything extraordinarily amusing- something that made you bite your tongue and blush like a ripe tomato (or like a virgin amongst Neanderthals, AND NO I DON'T KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS! STOP PESTERING ME! **I'M** THE BLOODY STORY-TELLER… Honestly!... Story-telling is not the profession it once used to be… Back in the old days, story-tellers were revered, respected, **WORSHIPPED**…Alas, the youths of today have such a knack for being rather rambunctiously inquisitive imbeciles…). Nevertheless, you all know that "The tongue is mightier than the sword". Hence, Draco Malfoy should be respected for mastering the strangely elusive craft of being, well, rather _witty_.

In fact, Draco Malfoy specializes in the art of one-liners: short, concise sentences which can literally scald a person halfway to Jupiter's third moon. His victims range from Hufflepuffs to the Slytherins in his own social circle. That's where I come in. If you haven't figured it out yet (You probably haven't… not that I'm denying your intelligence… You're all VERY intelligent… perhaps a bit slow… but intelligent all same… but I digress), I was one of Mr. Malfoy's victims. And like a good victim, I've decided to take my well-earned revenge. And what better way to do that than to steal Draco Malfoy's most prized possession, his most defining quality… his _wit_?


	2. Speculation

Libraries are beautiful things

Libraries are beautiful things. There's literally something for _everyone_ at a library. For example, I'm sure Millicent Bulstrode would love to read Female Henchmen: The Path to Absolute Celibacy (and Perhaps the Occasional Mudfight With Another Female Henchman) and that King Weasley is just _dying_ to get his hands on a copy of How to Grow a Pair: A Novella for the Mentally, Physically, and Economically Challenged. Hence, I was not surprised to find Revenge & Retribution for the Righteously Enraged in the Advanced Magic section of the library.

Initially, I was rather elated. After all, I had found the book which contained the spell I needed to steal Malfoy's bloody wit. But if locating such a book just meant consulting Madam Pince's exhausting library catalogue, then _any_ vengeful individual could find this book too. For example, Draco Malfoy or the hundreds of people I've –ah- _unintentionally_ instigated over the years. Honestly! I'm getting a bit concerned here. Imagine what would happen if Colin Creevy discovered that he could easily rob me of my looks? (At this point in time, I would like to confirm your suspicions that I am indeed unbelievably, indescribably, inhumanely, **DEVASTATINGLY** handsome, and thus an object of envy and obsession to those of Creevy's rather... unfortunate physical disposition). Imagine what would happen if Neville Longbottom knew that he could steal Potter's infallible luck? That seemingly insignificant robbery could very well mean the end of the wizarding world as we know it! (If you haven't figured it out yet, I am not a member of the Harry Potter Fan Club, and hence I will be quite honest about Wonderboy's role as "The Savior of the Wizarding World". Please. I'm sure if I had Potter's luck, I'd also mysteriously find myself standing upon the one trapdoor that just happened to lead to the Philosopher's Stone. Bloody hell! If I had Potter's luck, I'd go and fight basilisks as well. After all, I'd only have to wait a couple of minutes before a bloody bird found me, dropped a hat containing a sword, blinded the creature for me, and then flew me to Dumbledore's office. I can see it all happening now. Potter facing Voldemort. The Death Eaters strap Potter to a tree. All hope seems to be lost. Suddenly, an apple falls from the tree, hits Potter on the head, and voila! The apple turns out to be a portkey to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Never mind that it was bloody winter. For Harry Potter, it would rain apple portkeys everyday, regardless the season... but I digress).

Perhaps, I should have known that something would go wrong. If not for the reasons I listed above, then **most definitely** for the reasons I have listed below. Revenge & Retribution for the Righteously Enraged is written by none other than Xenophilius Lovegood, Looney Lovegood's father. To be as succinct as possible, that man is **BLOODY PSYCHOTIC!** Like most books, R&R for RE has a portrait of the author on the back cover. I do not believe that my eyes have recovered from the **atrocity** that is Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood. He was wearing pink and yellow striped robes, heart-shaped spectacles, and an enormous necklace made out of owl pellets (According to the caption, the owl pellet necklace is a form of protection against Harry Potter, whom Mr. Lovegood believes to be in conspiracy with magical sea turtles. With Potter's track record, I wouldn't be surprised). Furthermore, Mr. Lovegood dedicated his book to a "Krumple-Horned Snorkack". What IS that? Please, enlighten me... Actually, don't. I'd rather not know what that blasted thing is anyway. So, you can see why I should have refrained from consulting this particular book for my revenge. Alas, my impatience got the best of me, and I continued on.

Lovegood's potion required the following ingredients: hippogriff blood (Hagrid's got one of them, doesn't he?), fresh dragon scales (Now, I know for sure that Hagrid's got one of those too. Named Norman or something... You wouldn't believe the things you can learn by hiding in a suit of armor after hours... **TRULY** remarkable... Aside from hearing tidbits of Potter & Company's crusades, I've also had my pick of the amazingly succulent school gossip. For example, I can't tell you how many of the Quidditch players have strode by me, furiously whispering about their migration to the land of glitter and fairies, if you catch my drift), the target's essence (This could be hair, blood, or other bodily fluids...but I digress), and lastly, vanilla bean extract (For flavoring, of course. Mr. Lovegood notes that "this addition truly does make the potion rather delectable". Wanker).

I was able to procure the hippogriff's blood easily enough. Forget the fact that I almost lost an arm to that stupid bird/horse/cow. Interestingly enough, Hagrid no longer has Norman... Nonetheless, I temporarily borrowed some scales from Snape's Potions cupboard. With regard to the target's essence, I decided to use Malfoy's hair. Unfortunately for me, the boy is _freakishly_ immaculate. Only after a rather intense snogging session with Pansy did his perfectly styled hair get a bit tousled. Even then, his robes were free of stray hairs. I did, however, discover two platinum strands of hair on Pansy's robes. (And no, I would not like to explain how I was able to examine Parkinson's robes so... _thoroughly_). And now we must address the issue of house elves. Knowing that the kitchen staff was bound to have some vanilla bean extract lying around, I politely asked one of the house elves for a bottle. Those creatures can be so bloody RUDE! All I wanted was some bloody extract! They thought I was trying to bake my own cake, which to them, is a federal crime. Now, I don't care for baking, but knowing that they won't let me bake myself a cake is making me rather angry. I blame it all on Granger and her SPEW junk. We've enslaved house elves for thousands of years. Now that they're getting wages and shorter hours, indicators of a democratic system of capitalism, all of their repressed yearnings for freedom are finally seeping out (Huh. Perhaps I should look into philosophy if this whole story-telling thing doesn't work out...I do believe I have Aristotle's perfectly chiseled nose. And his posture).

After hours of arguing and fervent gesturing, I threatened to take off my socks, cut them into tiny pieces, and give them out to each of the house elves- a handkerchief of sorts. With ALL of my supplies in tow, I finally headed towards the dungeons. After locating an empty classroom, I lit my cauldron and slowly began mixing in the ingredients, save for Malfoy's hair. After seven minutes had passed, I added in the two strands of hair. The potion, which had been a deep burgundy hue, became a bubbling black concoction which later became a glowing silver color. How ironic. I bottled the liquid, cleaned my equipment, and headed back to the dormitories. And of course I encountered Malfoy along the way.

"How are you, Zabini?"

_Prick._ "Brilliant, Malfoy. And yourself?"

"Been better. Granger's given me another detention. For some reason, she believes that **I** lit her hair on fire during Potions today... I told her that it was impossible, I was at least three meters away from her…"

He looked at me then, his eyes appraising everything about me. "Oh really... That is a bit strange... Maybe her hair self-combusted... It's been known to happen once in a whi-"

"How'd you do it, Zabini?"

_He's sharp. Real sharp._ "Whatever do you mean, Malfoy?"

"I know it was you. It definitely wasn't me... and there's no one else who has the balls to light the Virgin Queen's hair on fire. Especially while Snape was bloody _talking_ to her."

_Good point_. "I don't know mate, it wasn't me..."

Suddenly, Malfoy's entire posture changed. His shoulders became relaxed, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out. _This can't be good. _

"Alright, Zabini. Let me know if you change your mind. I don't associate with ...**liars**."

He walked away from me, a smirk indented upon his cheek. Moments later, I felt a burning sensation creep along my legs. I looked to the heavens and sighed. _I knew this would happen. _

The bastard had put my pants on fire.


	3. Chivalry is Rather Dead

The most seasoned veterans in the criminal profession can attest that acts of chicanery are best conducted in... well... the most unexpected places. Hence, I've deduced that the Great Hall is the perfect venue for my little... _coup d'etat_. After all, you wouldn't expect Voldemort to attack Potter during breakfast...(Is it just me, or is that scenario remarkably easy to imagine? Perhaps it _is_ just me... After all, I've just endured a _very_ traumatic incident. Have you forgotten about it? So soon? Well, let me refresh your memory. Just last night, for absolutely no reason _whatsoever_, Draco Malfoy felt compelled to put my trousers on fire. Dumbledore _really_ ought to think about including anger management classes in the curriculum. It would save many a pair of innocent trousers. Anyhow, when I _did_ realize that my pants were indeed on fire, I had a mild, _quite_ mild panic attack. For approximately one minute, I ran up and down the corridor like a mad man. And so, it was only after I was rather tired of running around and screaming for water did I remember that I'm a bloody _wizard_. You know, I find it highly intriguing that we wizards always find ourselves in the most inexplicable situations. And _inexplicably_, we ALWAYS seem to temporarily forget the fact that we are indeed _wizards_, people who harness _magic_, the one thing that can fix EVERYTHING. Except for exploding warts... down _there_... there's no cure for that...I'm _so_ sorry.) Anyhow, _I_ can already see the aforementioned scenario unfold: Potter laughing at something Granger's said. King Weasley looking confused because he didn't see the humour. Granger looking pissed because _once again_ her dolt of a boyfriend did not "understand". And Weaselette looking annoyed because _**once again**_ she's the fourth wheel to their... solely three-wheeled...flying caravan. And BOOM! Voldemort appears in a cloud of black smoke (I know. I know. Voldemort _isn't_ your everyday magician or illusionist, but I'M the story-teller here so I'M taking full advantage of my artistic license. In laymen's terms, SHUT THE HELL UP, THANKYOUVERYMUCH!), he approaches the Golden Trio, and, to show how bloody SERIOUS the situation is-because, you know, the whole "one of us must die to determine the fate of the entire wizarding world" just doesn't _scream_ solemnity-, Voldy burns Ronnikins' pumpkin pasty to a crisp. Despite the fact a murdering, soulless, schizophrenic bi-polar LUNATIC just joined us all for breakfast, I honestly think I'd laugh. Can't you just envision Weasely's baffled expression, his face suffused with the classic "Whuh? Whuhhappenin? Whuhhappenedtomehpasty?") If that little digression wasn't enough evidence for you, let's look at the cold, hard facts. Voldy's attacked Potter through a psychotic professor, an overgrown snake, a death eater-gone-delusional, a portkey leading to the Devil's rebirth, a dream about a felon (Potter, Potter, Potter... are the girls at Hogwarts SO unappealing to you? Honestly!... If I wasn't afraid that you'd -ah- inadvertantly find **me** attractive, I would have introduced you to some of the Slytherin girls myself...And Black's no ordinary felon... He's your GODFATHER for Christ's sake! Have you no morals? Virtues? Vestiges of normalcy?) , and lastly, a cave filled with very nasty things. None of these methods of ..._Potter-removal_ have been very conventional. True, none of these methods have been overly effective... but I blame that all on Voldy. Bloke's got no luck to speak of.

So, as I'm walking down the aisle toward the 7th year Slytherin table, I know that today's the perfect day to proceed with my plan. I quickly scan across the room, searching for any discrepancies amongst the Hogwarts population... Nope. Nothing's out of order. The boys are aimlessly stuffing their faces, the girls are gossiping their glamour charms away, the faculty are chatting about academic nonsense, and the Hufflepuffs... I do not have the words, or the patience, to describe to you what those looneys are doing. But I will tell you that their daily breakfast routine _does_ involve a human-sized marshmellow, a pair of pink swimming fins, and a piece of rotten, moldy Swiss cheese. Please, by all means, let your imaginations run rampant.

And now, the Slytherins. I can already see Malfoy at his throne, right at the center of the table. He's flanked by Pansy on one side and Daphne Greengrass on the other. As usual, Pansy's whispering seductive, sweet nothings in his ear, thinking that she's the only girl on his mind. What she doesn't know is that Greengrass is quite blazenly slipping her hand between Malfoy's legs. I don't know how he does it. If I were Draco, I'm pretty sure I would have come right there. But _no_. King Malfoy is all about control. It's unnatural, really. Makes you wonder... if two beautiful girls can't arouse ... _Sheriff_ Malfoy (Yes, I _did_ just name Draco Malfoy's dick) , then what can?! Hell! I don't know how SHE does it... How can Greengrass stroke someone's nether regions, sip pumpkin juice, read the Daily Prophet, **and** ask Crabbe how his mother's dragon pox is coming along? ALL at the same time? Perhaps those two are meant for each other...after all Greengrass is just as psychotic as Draco (Actually, I'd like to retract that statement. The wench is probably even MORE mad than the so-called Slytherin God of Sex. Yes, people _do_ call him that. And _no_, I'VE never referred to him as such. Cheeky little bunch, aren't you?).

Daphne Greengrass. Her rather depressing history will force you to hate Muggles. Why, do you ask? Because without Muggles to be mocked, teased, and poked at, well, this terrible accident would never have happened (Alright, alright. I'll admit my logic is a bit flawed... but this whole tragedy _really_ could have been avoided if those bloody idiots never existed. And besides, I'm from bloody _Slytherin_. Rumour has it, we _eat_ Muggles for breakfast. They're a bit on the salty side, but still quite delicious. I thought I'd let you know, just in case you're thinking about changing up your diet). Anyhow, Daphne's father used to work in the Department of Muggle Abuse (exploding toilets, closets that open to thousand-foot cliffs, doors that bite you when you try to turn the knob, chairs that pinch your arse, you get the gist), and unfortunately for him, he did encounter a mailbox which ejected retractable Siberian silver caliber throwing knives. So, not only was Mr. Greengrass stabbed by seventeen knives, these knives then removed themselves from his body, re-entered the mailbox, and shot back out at him...Multiple times. Isn't magic just delightful?

Only several hours later did someone from the ministry come by to see what had happened to Mr. Greengrass. As you can imagine, not much was left of Mr. Greengrass. But the point of this rather long-winded digression lays at _Mrs._ Greengrass' feet.

Poor Valena Greengrass, approximately NINETEEN years junior to her husband, could not stand the idea of being the 'lonely, single parent'. And so, when her daughter caught her flirting with the priest after the funeral service, all she could say was "I'm sorry, darling, but Mummy's a bit lonely". At that moment, all Daphne felt was confusion. Was it that easy? Was it really that easy to forget? To forget years and years of living together, loving together, fighting together? Was it all gone? (What was that? _No_, I'm _not_ laying it on a bit thick. Would you oblige me by keeping your quite idiotic remarks to yourselves? Trying to tell a story here...) And just as suddenly, her confusion was replaced with an intense disgust, an anger which burned through her soul. And thus, when Valena began applying arse-enhancement charms and such to "get a new father for you, darling", Daphne's rage grew exponentially.

And so, just three weeks after her father's death, Daphne was FURIOUS to discover that her mum was engaged to a more-dead-than-alive octegenarian by the name of Mr. Algernon Fitzkrumpet. Now, Daphne wasn't too pleased about this, and who could blame her? Her father had been both father and mother to her. He had nurtured her, sang to her, sent her care packages on the weekends (Even **Malfoy** used to get a bit jealous of her care packages... and trust me when I say that his mum gives STUPENDOUS care packages... What I mean to say is, how many people do **you** know that receive fucking **PRO-QUIDDITCH** brooms in fucking _care packages_? In case you're wondering, I received a rather shitty broom on Christmas. And Malfoy gets a fucking BROOM over the weekend! Did I mention that the Malfoys gave Draco an ISLAND for his seventeenth birthday? AN ISLAND. WHAT THE HELL IS HE GOING TO DO WITH AN ISLAND? He's bloody English! He physically can't tan! A beach in the middle of the Caribbean is useless to him! Honestly! I really can't fathom modern parenting practices... Nevertheless, I suppose it was the whole "I really do love you" sentiment that came with Daphne's packages that had all of us craving for a bit ourselves...but I digress... you'll hear of our sad, pathetic, family sagas soon enough.) It didn't help matters that Daphne's new father-to-be seemed to be a goblin/giant hybrid- a highly unattractive breed. And so, for the very first time, Daphne told her mum how she felt.

"Mum... we need to talk..."

"About what, darling? You know Algie and I are going to see the ballet tonight... Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No, Mum. I need to talk to you now."

"Alright, Daphne Lorraine. But you should know, you _always_ choose the **most** inconvenient times to chat with me. Anyhow, tell me what I'm keeping dear Algie waiting for."

"Well... I don't think it's right. You. Marrying _him_. How could you, Mum? Forget Dad so soon? I don't understan-"

"That's right, Daphne. You _don't_ understand. You can't _possibly_ understand what I'm going through. I'm doing this for us. For **us**. Love him like your own father, Daphne-"

"But, Mum-"

"Stop it, Daphne!...These are grown-up matters. And you are still a child... Don't worry your pretty little head about such things...I'll see you in the morning, darling."

And that was it. The BIG confrontation- that went **so** wrong in **so** many ways. And so, with no further interruptions, the wedding took place in a lovely seaside villa. It was splashed all across the Daily Prophet as the event of the year. And this is where things begin to get a bit ugly.

Apparently, the morning after the wedding, Valena found herself lying in an empty bed. A _cold_ and empty bed. As per protocol, she had Aurors scour the world for him, but Mr. Algernon Fitzkrumpet was nowhere to be found. The only piece of him that remained was a tuft of his greyish-gingery moustache. According to the Prophet, the coroner hypothesized that old Fitzkrumpet had splinched himself in the process of apparating. Unfortunately for Fitzkrumpet, when the elderly splinch, it's quite difficult to get them un-splinched. It didn't help matters that poor Algie had dementia along with a degradative form of short-term memory. So, honestly, the poor man never stood a chance. Can't you just imagine our little goblin/giant hobbling aimlessly through the Sub-Saharan desert, his fingers grazing across his face, pondering that inevitable question, that one question that has plagued philosophers for decades, nay, _centuries_, that inexplicable "Whatever happened to my moustache?" (Things were getting a bit depressing there. I thought you lot needed a laugh. And now that you've had it, let's move on.)

So, one week later, the wizarding world shuddered whilst eating breakfast and reading the Prophet. Valena Greengrass had killed herself. She had flung herself off the second floor balcony, merely two days after Algie's disappearance. Did I mention that it was Daphne who found her the next day? Yep. She's pretty fucked up now. But don't make any judgements yet... There is still more fuckedupped-ness to be had.

Now, as you all know, most first-years purchase some sort of pet, a companion of sorts to facilitate the adjustment to the Hogwarts lifestyle. Back then, many of us bought owls, frogs, even tiny, harmless garden snakes (Nowadays? Nowadays, it's quite a different story. Apparently, _our_ pets are "old-fashioned". And hence, the first-years this year brought in 36 foreign dragons, 127 unicorns, 24 phoenixes, and 1 thestral. And of course that bloody invisible eating-machine resides in the Slytherin tower. I can't describe to you how many times I've closed my eyes, just relaxing, holding my warm mug of coffee, breathing in the damp, musty air of the dungeons. Simply thinking. _Finally alone. No botheration._ But then, something changes. The dynamics of the room become different. Cold, strange, uninviting. And so, I open my eyes. _Nope. Everything's fine. There's nobody here. I'm completely, utterl-_ And that's when I see it. Blood. Dripping from five feet in the air. And half-a-cow being masticated before my eyes. And people wonder why Slytherins become dark wizards. If _you_ had to watch _that_ every morning, _you'd_ think Voldy was all rainbows and sunshine as well).

Anyhow, whilst the rest of us were lugging around small metal cages carrying Olly the Owl or Freddy the Frog, Daphne Greengrass was in possession of a Bolivian boa constrictor she lovingly called Bartleby. Like most of his kind, Bartleby had a tendency to... well... constrict things. And thus, the disappearance of two owls, three toads, five cats, and one first-year named Cornelius, resulted in Bartleby's expulsion.

Meanwhile, Daphne officially became an orphan. With rumours of a curse slowly killing off her family, none of her relatives wanted to take her in. And cue the silver trumpets-_enter Dumbledore_. Of course, the "Greatest Wizard of All Time", also known as "The Man Whose Mistakes are Mammoth-Sized, No Really, Think Large, Pre-historic, Furry Animal", just HAD to get involved. And so, he requested that she return to Hogwarts with all of her belongings in tow. When she asked if Bartleby could come along too, the sappy marshmellow gave in on the one condition that she only release him in her private dormitories. Now, I thought Dumbledore was supposed to be _more_ intelligent than a brain-dead chimpanzee. But I reckon I was mistaken (Me, making a mistake? It's been known to happen...approximately every other millenium). I mean what kind of headmaster allows a student to bring in a boa constrictor that has a morbid proclivity for strangling things? And we're fighting VOLDEMORT? Not that I'm saying Voldy's faultless. He isn't. But at least he had the sense to keep his bloody snake locked up in the basement, and not frolicking about in the Slytherin dormitories where innocent children sleep and learn. Anyhow, imagine the terror we Slytherins felt knowing that _that thing_ was back!

And so, Malfoy, Nott, and I decided to take matters into our own hands and get rid of the damn thing. (No, I did **not** kill the snake. My lord, you just LOVE to jump to conclusions. You know where that puts you... in the same lot as Mr. Harry Potter. Bloke's more wound up than Ron with Veela triplets...Alrighty, then...On with the story.) So, whilst Daphne was sleeping, we snuck into her chambers and removed the old, raggedy, and slightly malodorous suitcase she kept Bartleby in (Okay, it wasn't that easy. As you know, at least I hope you know, boys are not allowed inside the girls' dormitories. But for some reason, girls are allowed in ours. Talk about sexism, but I digress. Anyhow, each of us used Polyjuice Potion to temporarily become a girl. Malfoy was Pansy of course, Nott was Millicent (ugh, I don't know how he managed to get one of her hairs- if you can call that _atrocity_ hair... more like porcupine quills), and I was alksdjklajsdmadamhoochalsdaskd. (WHAT? What do you mean, "what did I say"? My lord, you are SUCH a rude audience. Don't interrupt me whilst I'm telling a story... And for Christ's sake, if you MUST know, I went as MADAM BLOODY HOOCH. I hope you're bloody satisfied.) And so, (WHAT NOW? Fine. If you must know, I'm a Chaser on the Quidditch team, and thus I had plenty of opportunities to snag a bit of her hair... Are you quite finished then? _Thanks_) when we had issues dragging the suitcase out of the room, we just blamed it on our feminine (_Ahem_. NONEXISTENT) muscles. One hour and three broken fingers later, we managed to bring the suitcase to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I carefully opened the zipper and waited for Bartleby to strike out. But he never did.

Instead, he slowly slithered out, properly enjoying himself as he finally felt fresh air and the cool, dewy grass against his skin. And while I was admiring his red and black scales, I noticed something odd about Bartleby. About a third way down his body, at the five-meter mark, there was a rather odd bulge. He continued to slither out, and more bulges appeared. Soon enough, all fifteen meters of Bartleby were on the ground, and I could very well see that these small bulges formed one rather gargantuan bulge. A person-sized bulge. To be more specific, a goblin/giant-sized bulge. Suffice it to say, I've never ran faster in my life. And that, my rather uncooperative audience, is the unabridged saga of Daphne Greengrass.

Anyhow, I slip in next to Pansy, hoping Malfoy's too busy concentrating on his pumpkin juice (and the small hand caressing his parts) to notice. Pansy smiles at me then, a quick flash of radiance, and then turns fully to face me. As I'm about to pour myself some pumpkin juice, I hear her whisper against my ear.

"Are you ready?"

"What? Ready for what?"

"Blaise! You didn't forget, did you?" _Oh shit. Whatever it is, I've definitely forgotten it._

And then her lips were on mine. I felt as though all of the air in the hall had been sucked out. And it was just me and her. It took me a while to respond. After all, I _was_ just reminiscing about Bartleby... Anyhow, I must admit that Pansy almost killed me with that kiss. She didn't douse herself in the fruity rubbish girls thought that we went mad for. Instead, my mind was being softly swathed by hints of...lilac. Or was it lavender? And before I knew it, my hands were fisted in her short, dark hair. All I felt was softness. My thumbs grazed her neck and I could feel her pulse, quickening at this slight movement. And before I could savor whatever this experience was, it was over. Her lips were gone, her fragance was never there. I opened my eyes, feeling disturbingly undone. I found myself staring at two _very_ wide violet eyes. _Pansy._

She whispered to me then, "Wow. Blaise. I think that was _quite_ convincing. I'll talk to you later about the formal. Thanks!" And she turned back to Malfoy, a smirk on her face.

OhmyGod. I _really_ have to get used to this. Did I mention that Pansy's enlisted me to her "Let's Get Malfoy All Jealous and Riled Up so that He'll Come to His Senses, Stop Flirting with 99 of the Hogwarts' Female Population, and Start Dating ME Exclusively" campaign? I didn't have the heart to tell her that her efforts are utterly worthless. Malfoy had dated Pansy for several years, he had even slept with her. And now, now he was done with her. She was used, damaged goods. He didn't want her, so nobody wanted her. Despite the fact she was one of the prettiest girls in school.

I turned back to my pumpkin juice then, contemplating the whole "Woe is me!" situation. And before I could really start pitying myself, I heard something hit the hard, wooden surface of the table and roll towards me. A goblet. Pansy, always the devious little strategist, had quite deliberately tipped over Malfoy's goblet. Pumpkin juice flooded the table as well as a certain someone's robes. As Pansy began to give Draco a handjob -ah- as Pansy began to _assist_ Malfoy in cleaning his robes, I refilled the goblet and discreetly (or so I thought) added the potion. I passed the goblet to Malfoy, and for the first time that day, he acknowledged my presence. He looked at the goblet and then back at me. That kid trusted NO ONE (with good reason, might I add, seeing as I _was_ trying to steal his wit). And with an almost imperceptible shrug, he downed the goblet in one go. I got up then, a second vial in my hand. _One, two, three_... An emerald green orb, a bit smaller than a Snitch, rose out from Malfoy's chest. And that's when I punched Malfoy in the face.

As my left fist connected with his jaw, my right hand, which held the vial, swiped at the orb. And before Malfoy's own fist collided with my cheek, I whispered "_Locomotor quartendum!_" And that's when sweet, soft darkness fell over me. Who knew heaven smelled like lilacs? Or was it lavender?

_Urrgh. My face...MY GOD! MY FACE!_ I lifted my arms and guided my hands to my face. And all I felt was bandaging. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Oh stop, already! Don't worry, you're face is in PERFECT condition. The bandages are there to reduce the swelling."

"What the- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU TAKEN ME?!"

"SHUT UP, ZABINI! Any louder and you'll wake up Madam Pomfrey. And use your brain for Christ's sake. You're in the Hospital Wing... After you hit Malfoy, he punched you in the face, and hence you're here now. _And_ you're Head Boy, you should know my voice by-"

_Oh GOD! What did I do to DESERVE a visit from the she-devil herself?_ "Yeah, yeah, Granger. So what's the problem. Why are you here?"

"I know what you did, Zabini."

"What are you talking about, Granger? I _do_ many things. Try to be a bit more specific."

Even though I couldn't see her, I could feel her blush at my vulgarity. Whatever. I was in pain and this bitch was bothering me. Chivalry died three alleviation potions and one plan for revenge ago.

"Well, Zabini. I saw you slip something in his goblet. I saw you steal that orb..."

"Oh! Excellent! So, not only are you the bossiest girl in the history of Hogwarts, you've also re-instated the Inquisitorial Squad. Let me guess, you're Umbridge. Wonderful. Anyhow, what's it to _you_ if I stole something from Malfoy. Why the hell would you care?

She stuttered then. "I don't _care_. It's just... it's wrong to steal, Zabini! I can have your title for this. Tell me what you stole."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll go to Dumbledore."

"SO WHAT? WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT OLD BUGGER IS GOING TO DO?!"

"I don't know... GET YOU **EXPELLED** MAYBE?"

"Oh please, Granger. You and I **both** know that the Zabini family has recently donated **5,000 Galleons** to the school. Do you REALLY think I'll get expelled for _supposedly_ stealing some measly orb?"

_Sometimes... being a Slytherin is way too much fun._

"Fine! What's the price of the truth?"

_Interesting...very interesting indeed..._

"Hmm... What does **Granger** have that **I** want... Intelligence? Nope... I have enough of that... Great-looking hair? Definitely not... But if you want some of mine, maybe we can figure something out... I don't know Granger... It looks as though you have nothing I want..."

"UGH! Come ON, Zabini! Surely there's something I can give you!"

"Huh... maybe you're right... I want...a kiss."

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Can't wait for this bitch to blow a gasquet!_

But the gasquet never blew.

She was really quiet. Too quiet.

"Fine. But no groping. And take those bandages off."

"Wait. WHAT?! Are you serious, Granger?! What the hell have you been smoking?!"

_And where can I get some?_

"What NOW?! Didn't you say you wanted a kiss?"

"Yeah... but you're supposed to be all prudish and nun-like. Why would you kiss me? A Slytherin? A potential Death Eater in-the-making?

"God, Zabini. Don't flatter yourself. The only reason I'm willing to kiss you is because you have information. Information that I want. Since I think you're nothing, that you're worse than the dirt on the bottom of my shoes, I'll kiss you. Because you mean _nothing_ to me."

And without further ado, she came up to me, lifted up my head a bit, and began unravelling the bandages. And me? How would YOU feel after hearing that? I must admit my ego _was_ a bit bruised by that rather scathing evaluation of my character...or the lackthereof, according to Granger...I don't understand it. What happened to the Granger that I used to know? The Granger who would have said, nay SCREAMED, "No!" at my ridiculous request. Stupid bitch has done it again. Used her bloody _righetousness_ and _"wholeness of character"_ to make ME feel like rubbish.

"Ready, Zabini?"

"What?" _She's muddled up my brain for sure._

"I said, are you ready?"

"I don't know... Do I **want** to be kissed by someone who thinks I'm -how'd you put it-'worse than the dirt on the bottom of my shoes'?"

"Fine! Then just _tell_ me, Zabini. Just _tell_ me."

_Why does she sound so desperate?_

"Granger, you should now by now that nothing is free. Nothing. I'll take that kiss now."

She looked at me then, her face mixed with disgust and pity... What the hell?! And she came even closer to me then. _Is she- Is she?_

"Are you _crying,_ Granger?"

"No-"

"Am I SO repulsive to you? Well, I'd _hate_ to disappoint you, seeing as you hold me in _such_ high esteem, but I must let you know that I don't give a flying fig if you can't bring yourself to give me a lousy peck on the mouth. The price of the truth hasn't changed. So either you do it, or you don't."

_Why am I getting angry? Wait-What's going on?_ And though it seemed impossible, she leaned even closer to me, her hands on either side of my face.

"What are you doing-"

"Shhh. I'm imagining..."

"WHAT?! I don't want you to imagine me as WEASELY!"

"I'm not."

"What? Then WHO?" _Wait a moment... If the Golden Girl isn't lusting after that excuse for a human... than whom is she thinking of? Who does she... like?_

"You don't know him... just be quiet..."

She closed her eyes then. And she just breathed. Her hands cupped my face, her palm carressing my bruised cheek. And then it happened. She kissed me. And like before, my hand reached up and fisted in her long ringlets.

Her kiss was slow, tentative. So unlike Pansy's. Pansy's kiss was passionate from the start, just fire building on more fire. It was spontaneous and free. But Granger... her kiss was so...methodical. It started out slow, her lips over mine, and then mine over hers. And then my hands slid down to her waist and I pulled her on top of me. _What am I thinking? This is Granger... I can't be kissing bloody GRANGER..._ But it was too late for thought. She understood what I was trying to do, and she helped. She lay on top of me now, her knees bent near my waist. And the kiss continued. And all I did was _feel_.

Her hair hung around my face like ivy. _Apricots. She smells like fresh apricots._ But this wasn't enough. I pulled the blankets off me and I felt her bare legs against fine. But it _still_ wasn't enough. I rolled over then and I was finally on top. I felt her completely then, her breasts pushing lightly against my chest. And her skin. Her goddamned soft skin. The kiss still hadn't broken. Her hands now crept under my shirt and along my back. _What is she doing to me? What's Granger __**doing**__ to me?_

But I couldn't stop myself. My hand slipped under her shirt, and I could feel her stomach quiver. I started trailing up her body. Past her stomach, her breasts, and to her heart. _It's beating so fast. Why is it beating so fast?_ Was she frightened? Of me? And so I slowly broke the kiss and began kissing along her neck, and then under her ear, along her temple, and I felt her hands on my chest. Pushing me up. _Pushing me away_. I jolted up then and off the bed. I looked at her, her hair tousled, her blouse torn, her hands hugging herself convulsively. I looked at the stone floor, trying to understand what had just happened. _Why does she look like that? Like someone...hurt her? How could I let things get so out of control?_

"Granger-"

And her tears, which had been glittering in her eyes all along, were spilling over.

_Oh my God. FUCK! _

"Hermione-"

"Don't! Don't call me that!"

"I'm sorr-"

But she was gone.

_It was only a kiss._


	4. Artic Sapphire

Someone was stroking my forehead. And humming. _God that feels __**amazing**__… Wait a moment, I __**know **__that tune…I've heard it before, my mum-_

"Mum?"

My rather serious question was answered with a high, girlish giggle. Clearly, whoever was molesting me so sweetly, was **not **my mother. I opened my eyes then, adjusting to the morning light. My eyes focused on the ceiling. The **white** ceiling. _What the hell? Since when did I get a new ceiling? _And that, my annoying pustules of an audience, was when I remembered. **Everything.**

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

"Blaise? Is everything alright?" asked my molester.

"No, clearly, everything is NOT alright!", I exclaimed. And then I sat up rather suddenly, for I'd finally figured out who my molester was. _Pansy._

"Pans?"

"No, Blaise. I'm your Auntie Beatrice thrice removed, you know, the one with the dragon scales on her arse… Of course, it's me! And stop moping already! Draco isn't _too _terribly upset… But he did say he was going to hex your important bits off… So keep your eyes open, I suppose. And what the hell were you thinking anyway? Why'd you attack him like that? I don't recall mauling my boyfriend as part of the plan!"

"UGH!" I fell back on the bed, exhausted by her incessant chatter. "First of all, Pans, it was my Auntie _Flora_ who had dragon scales _in_ her arse. Second of all, did Draco mention giving my bits back _after _he had hexed them off? Or was it a permanent sort of thing? Third of all, I don't know _what_ I was_ possibly_ thinking when I smacked his face in… Maybe I was thinking about the time in first-year when he put Everlasting Itching powder in pajamas and I almost scratched myself to femalehood. Or perhaps I remembered the time he told me that all one had to do to get to Hogsmeade was to run backwards into the Forbidden Forest, roll in the dirt for seven minutes, pound one's chest, and shout "Centaurs Suck!" Or maybe JUST MAYBE I happened to recall the jolly good time I had listening to that Howler from my mum, stating, "HOW COULD YOU HAVE GOTTEN PANSY PREGNANT?! AND HOW ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH COULD YOU HAVE THROWN THE BABY INTO THE WHOMPING BLOODY WILLOW?!"

Pansy had started to break out in peals of laughter, but I was **not** to be trifled with, so I continued on with my little diatribe.

"FOURTH OF ALL, Draco Malfoy is ANYTHING but your bloody BOYFRIEND!"

And that statement shut her up quite effectively. She looked at me then, those enormous violet eyes widening even more. She looked at the floor and gave me a small, timid smile.

"Yes, you're right. He _isn't _my boyfriend. But we're working on that, so all's well."

I shook my head, not understanding. "Pans, why do you keep doing this? He's not worth it! Really, I know he's bloody gorgeous and all that rubbish, but he's an arse too."

She chuckled at my straightforward analysis of her "boyfriend" and smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her pleated skirt.

"I know, Blaise. I know better than anyone that he's a complete moron. But when he looks at me-" She took a deep breath here and continued on. "…but when he looks at me, I feel beautiful. I feel wanted. I feel like I belong somewhere…I don't know how to explain it…"

"But, Pans, **I** think you're beautiful. The whole **WORLD** thinks you're beautiful. And you belong with us, with your friends. You don't have to do this…"

But no matter what I said, she wouldn't give up on him.

"I know, I know. This is the last time, I promise." She smiled sweetly at me, and I wished and wished and WISHED she didn't have such a reputation. For being Draco's whore, for being Nott's whore, for being everyone's whore… But what's done is done, right?

She pulled off my blankets then, all calmness and efficiency. "Come on, Blaise. It's Saturday, tomorrow's the formal, and I need to pick up some things."

I groaned again and she laughed. "Stop being such a BABY, Blaise. I just need to check if the tailor made the right adjustments to my dress and to find you a matching pocket square."

"A pocket square? A POCKET SQUARE?! I'M NOT BLOODY ANCIENT, PANS! I DON'T WANT A BLOODY POCKET SQUARE!"

"It's like a handkerchief."

"Oh. Okay. Why didn't you just say so?"

"Oh, GOD. Just get dressed! I'll meet you outside in, say… twenty minutes?"

"Fine, fine."

She kissed me on the cheek then, tousled my hair, and walked out of the infirmary.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

After convincing Madam Pomfrey that I was indeed in perfect condition, I ran to my quarters, knowing that Pansy would be in very _unpleasant_ mood if I were late. (By "unpleasant", I mean that her disposition would closely resemble that of a Blast-Ended Skrewt whose arse has just been poked with a fire prod one time too many… It's times like this that I must congratulate myself upon mastering the art of "making spot-on, though rather painfully graphic analogies"). And just as I uttered the password to open the portrait hole, Hermione Granger stepped out (And this, my lovely, lovely listeners of a lower-being intelligence, is the definition of AWKWARD.)

She looked alright, much better than last night to say the least. No more tears, thank the lord.

"Err…Look, Granger. I'm really sorry about last night. I don't know what I was doing… Alleviation potions…mess with your mind, you know?" _God. I'm a blithering idiot._

"No, Zabini. _I'm_ sorry. I never should have done that, it wasn't like me at all… Can we just forget about what happened? Clearly, neither of us were ourselves…"

_YES! SALVATION! _"Sure, sure. I suppose I should tell you -ah- the truth anyway, though. I feel sort of guilty for not telling you sooner…"

"Yeah, that's fine. Can it wait until this afternoon though? I'm meeting Harry and Ron at, well… _now._"

"Of course. That's fine. I need to find Pansy too. Alright, I'll see you later then?"

"Okay, bye!"

And she swiftly walked away, scarf, mittens, and hat in tow. Well, I must say that the entire conversation was oddly_… civil_. I'm glad we both rose above such a bloody catastrophe. (Can't imagine _you_ lot having the grace, intelligence, or tact of managing that!)

Anyhow, I entered my room only to see a vivid green flask floating right in the center of my bed. _Malfoy's wit_. As soon as I had swiped it away, I had sent it to my quarters. And here it was. I don't really know what I was feeling then, gazing at the tiny glass bottle. Pride? Guilt? Fear? _What happens now? What the hell am I going to do with his bloody wit?_

I left it there then and headed into the showers, hoping the hot water would help me reach an answer. Unfortunately, the hot water was fucking USELESS. Whatever. If the situation with Malfoy does spiral down, I'll just use his wit as a bargaining chip. Your wit in exchange for my manly parts. Sounds quite reasonable to me.

I donned some fresh clothes and headed out, stomach growling for food. Knowing that I was running too late to pass by the kitchens or the dining hall, I just walked on to the front gates. And, like every other time before, Pansy was already there, waiting by the carriages. She looked perfect. She had placed an ice blue beret over her short black hair, making her impossibly violet eyes seem even clearer. Her matching blue scarf was twisted neatly around her neck and laid simply across her elegant black coat. This girl knew how to dress.

"Hey, Pans." She smiled at me warmly and pushed me into the carriage.

"Come on! Get in, get in! I have a surprise for you!"

I was just about to step into the carriage, but I turned back to face her. "A surprise? What kind of surprise? Is it the kind of surprise you gave me for my birthday last year? A bewitched doll that thought I was its "Poppa"? Because _that_, was a BAD surprise. A bad, bad, _very bad _surprise. I can still see its disturbingly green eyes staring at me all night… Reminds me of Potter. Ugh!" I shuddered then.

She broke into giggles and said, "No, no! God, Blaise. That was just a joke! And the surprise I have for you is a good one. I promise."

My stomach grumbled loudly. "Yeah, it better be bloody stupendous, Pans."

She sat down across from me and pulled out a basket from underneath her seat.

"Go on. Take your time opening up my "surprise". I'll just sit here quietly whilst my stomach _devours_ itself."

She glared at me for a second and then threw open the basket. And it was like Christmas morning. Except in a box. Inside my little surprise, or rather _big_ surprise, were pastries, pies, sandwiches, eggs, waffles, bacon, sausages, pumpkin juice, orange juice, fruit slices. Anything and EVERYTHING related to breakfast. I looked up at her then, the shock evident on my face.

"So what do you think, Blaise? Good or bad surprise?" Her voice was filled with mischief.

"Pansy…You just made me fall in love with you." And to be quite honest, I was being a hundred percent serious when I said that. The age-old adage that 'food is the way to a man's heart' is true a trillion times over_. So. Fucking. True._

She blushed lightly and laughed. "All right, Zabini. Just shut up and eat. I don't want to hear you complaining once we get there."

And for the first time in a long time, I listened to her.

By the time we got to Hogsmeade, I felt as though I had inhaled a whale. No. A pair of whales. Pansy dragged me out of the carriage, laughing when I almost fell on my arse, onto the cold, wet snow.

"Come on, come on! I want to get my things before the whole world shows up!"

And I let her push and pull me to a nice-looking boutique, astutely named "Emberlyn's Elegant Fashions". As Pansy opened the door, a soft tinkling of bells sounded, and we were greeted by a voluptuous, dark-haired woman whom I assumed to be the aforementioned Emberlyn.

"Hello, may I help you with something?"

"Yes, please. I'm here to pick up a gown I had ordered three weeks ago… I just want to make sure it fits properly."

"Yes, of course. Come this way please, just give me your name, and I'll pull out your dress for you."

Whilst Pansy was getting her dress and all of that womanly stuff, I started to walk around the store. It was a pentagonal room, each side held a rack overflowing with short and long dresses. And attached to this room was a hallway which led to the dressing rooms, I presume. I walked towards the dress racks, vaguely interested in how much these garments cost. A dark pink coloured dress caught my eye. I reached out to touch it and was shocked to see how thin the actual fabric was. Whoever bought this dress would literally be wearing nothing. I looked at the price tag several times, wondering if we had recently adopted a new numbering system. There was _no way _that this excuse for a dress was worth three hundred bloody galleons. No bloody way. And so, I moved on to another dress, hoping the price tag on the latter was an error of some sorts. Now _this_ dress was rather conservative. Nice, black, made out of velvet. It seemed to be a very simple, elegant little number. Until I turned it around and realized that the dress had _no bloody BACK! _Just a mess of thin straps that was _so_ ineffectual. Honestly! What was this store selling? Dresses for harlots, strumpets, tarts, and whores?! I looked at the price tag on _this _dress and almost had a conniption. This ._.. rag…_was priced at SIX HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN BLOODY GALLEONS! I stormed through the hallway, shouting out for Pansy. I heard her talking to that foul Emberlyn lady and I tore open the hangings to the dressing room. And my jaw dropped to the floor. And quite possibly rolled away.

My words died in my throat and sank lifelessly to the pit of my stomach. She looked… I don't think a million words could aptly describe to you how Pansy looked at that moment. Her dress was a silver color. It was sort of Grecian for it had a single thick, beaded shoulder strap. The dress was form-fitting, curving around her breasts. A thick band of clear stones wound across under her chest and from this band dropped a mixture of long ribbons of gauze and tulle. These strips of cloth glittered in the light, dusted with little crystals, all the way to the floor.

"Blaise? What happened?"

"Oh. My. I. Oh. I… **Wow**." _Oh my LORD! I _**AM**_ a blithering idiot!_

I swallowed deeply and continued. "Pansy, you look… like an _angel_." And at that moment, she did. A dark-haired angel.

She giggled then. "That's the point, Blaise. Do you think Draco will like it?", she asked, anxiousness setting in her voice.

I cleared my throat again, but my voice still came out hoarse. "He's going to love it."

"Excellent! Alright, I'm just going to change out of this, and then we'll go find you a pocket square."

"Okay, sounds good." And I walked away, the image of Pansy as an angel burned into my eyes.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

* * *

While Pansy went to get her hair things, (No. I don't know what she meant by "hair things". Just things! For one's hair, I suppose. What do you care anyway? This story isn't about her bloody hair, which, by the way, smells incredible. Well, while we're on this topic, I must say that I've had my fair share of experiences with women. And, oddly enough, I judge a woman by her hair. If it's frizzy but clean-smelling, like Granger's, I can say that she's the "I'm busy and hard-working, but I still do care about my hygiene" type of girl. If it's curly, clean-smelling, AND well-styled, like Weaselette's, I can say that she's the "I too am busy, but I give a fuck about my appearance, so I won't go walking around with hair the size of a submarine" type of girl. If it's frizzy AND stinky, like Abbot's, I can say that she's the "My grandmum told me never to wash my hair because then I'd become stupid (disregarding the fact that I ALREADY have the intelligence of a half-eaten banana)" type of girl. And then, you have the worst of them all. If her hair is pretty, clean-smelling, and VERSATILE (and by versatile, I mean that this girl's hair is curly one day, straight the other, long one day, half gone the next day, etcetera), I can say that she's the "GLAMOUR CHARM GIRL! ( also known as the "I have hideous hair. But with a lovely thing called magic, I can transform the aforementioned pile of _shit_ on top of my head into really pretty hair! Hurrah for me!). Would you like a prime example of a "glamour charm girl"? I knew you would. Drumroll please. Enter: LAVENDER BROWN! Oh. My. God. Sometimes I have nightmares about her. Well, her hair actually. And how it's dry, and twiggy, and ugly, and smells like Nott's feet after he hasn't taken them out of his trainers for a month. Or three. UGH! Shit, that was a long digression. Anyhow…what was I saying?).

So, whilst Pansy went shopping, I went _gift-_shopping. It's Pansy's birthday this Monday, and I really wanted to get her something meaningful. This whole ordeal with Draco had taken a toll on her and I wanted her to forget about him, just for one night at any rate. I was walking past Jannigan and Jockibell's Jewelry when something in the window caught my eye. It was a crystal sparrow. A sparrow… made out of crystal… And strangely enough, whoever created this work of art, had still managed to keep the softness. He had emulated the tufts of feathers perfectly, and if that crystal sparrow shifted right now and adjusted its wings, I would not have been surprised. It looked so fragile and so incredibly _real_. And before I knew it, I was opening the door to the store. A soft tinkling echoed in my ears (What is UP with the bloody tinkling bells?!).

"Can I help you?", asked a wizened, old man, who barely reached my shoulders. His purple suspenders and gold pocket-watch held me spellbound for a moment (What the fuck? _Purple _suspenders? And GOD, that pocket-watch is… glorious). He coughed a bit and I was forced to look away from the antique he had attached to his pants.

He asked again, "Ah, can I help you son?"

I looked at the display cases, wondering how I had wandered into the shop.

"I'm not sure… I'm looking for something to get my best friend… It's her birthday in a couple of days…"

His eyes lit up then (probably glad that I didn't turn out to be some psychotic, sadistic, homicidal "young fellow" who had a penchant for slicing things up).

"What's her name?"

"Her name?", I asked, not wanting to give personal information to this wrinkly old man.

"Yes, her name."

"Uh…Pansy?"

"No, no. Her real name."

_What the fuck? I am NOT giving away her last name…Psychotic pedofile…Why the fuck did I come in here?! Fucking crystal sparrow fucked up my mind…_

"Pansy **is** her real name…"

"Doesn't she have a middle name?"

"Oh. Yeah. It's…"

And for the life of me, I couldn't remember what her middle name was. Something with an L? Or was it an R?

"Sorry, sir… I can't remember…"

He sighed at me then and shook his head. "All right. We'll have to do without it, but it would have helped with the process."

_What the FUCK? WHAT BLOODY PROCESS?! WHY DO OLD PEOPLE ALWAYS HAVE TO SPEAK IN BLOODY RIDDLES?!_

"Excuse me sir, but what process are you speaking of?"

"The process of finding her a suitable gift, as you had requested", he answered with a tinge of haughtiness.

"Yes, but her name? How is that significant?"

He looked at me then and I could hear the wheels in his head turning and I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "Is this boy mentally retarded?" I'm sorry, but I really didn't understand what her name had to do with ANYTHING but for the sake of not being chopped up by a little man who eerily resembled a killer goblin I once read about in an article, I went on with the charade.

"Oh yes! Of course, of course. Continue on with the process…"

He kept on staring at me strangely and I knew that _he knew _that I had no idea what I was talking about.

"All right. What's her favorite color?"

_Easy_. "Light blue."

"Her favorite season?"

_Ha. Even easier._ "Winter."

"Her middle name?"

"Saethera." I froze, just as a maniacal grin spread across this psychopath's face.

"See! You did know it!"

"Yes… I suppose I did…" _But I must admit my head was reeling with suspicion. Who was this __**freak**__?_

"Alright. Now let me show you a couple of items you might be interested in."

He went behind the counter, knelt, and removed a small black case. He slowly opened the case and I was temporarily blinded when he pulled out a tiara from its protective pouch.

"This is the Saethera tiara." My head shot up at the name.

"It is comprised of one hundred and twenty-eight white crystals. The center piece is a circle Arctic sapphire. The intricate ivy pattern was established in the 1400s. It was crafted by a Scottish sorcerer in honor of his bride."

I picked up the tiara, surprised by its lightness. It really was exquisite… but when would she have the chance to wear a bloody tiara? I put it down gently.

"Not for her, is it?", said the old man, winking ever so slightly.

"No, it isn't…I need something smaller. Something that she can wear to some place OTHER than her OWN wedding."

He puffed up slightly at my words, but I didn't care. There's only so much I can take. After that point, I start sharing my nasty little comments.

He pulled out a ring then and I _knew _that no matter what, Pansy would die if she ever saw this ring.

"This is the Saethera ring-"

"What a creative name!" I remarked mockingly.

He huffed at me and then continued on. "The Saethera ring is comprised of two hundred mini-crystals and one princess-cut Arctic sapphire. The same sorcerer presented this ring to his future bride as a gift, a marriage offering."

"That's all lovely, but again, I need something that she can wear at ANYTIME. Please!"

"Young man! Do NOT raise your voice with me!"

_Damn. The old fool had developed an attitude problem._

"I apologize, _sir, _but my carriage will be leaving soon, and I need a bloody gift for my bloody friend!"

His face paled at my simply _scrumptious_ vocabulary, and he removed yet another crystal piece from the pouch.

"This here, is the Saethera pendant. It is a single Artic sapphire-drop. It comes with a back chain, a line of alternating sapphires and crystal. It also-"

"I'll take it."

He smiled smugly at me then, knowing full well that this was EXACTLY what I had been looking for all along.

"All right then, this piece is very valuable. It may seem exorbitant-"

I didn't care. It was beautiful. And it was Pansy.

"How much?"

He looked at me, straight in the eye, and I knew that no matter how ungodly expensive this necklace turned out to be, I'd be compelled to buy it.

"Three thousand, nine hundred, ninety-six galleons."

_What the fuck? Why not just make it four thousand galleons? What's another four fucking galleons when you're spending __**that **__much money?_

"Sold. Wrap it up in one of those nice little boxes and owl it to me. I need it, at latest tomorrow evening." I wrote my name on a card for him and ran towards the carriage.

If I've learned anything these past seven years, it's that one should not keep Pansy Saethera Parkinson waiting.

**Author's Notes:**

Hello! Thanks for reading my story, or rather what's completed of my story. I would love to hear what you all think about it, so please review. Chapter Five is in the works!


	5. Smoke & Mirrors

"Zabini?"

I lifted the book away from my face and sat up. For the past fifteen minutes, I had been reclining on the couch, wondering about Malfoy's wit and my rather nonexistent plans for it.

Granger glanced at me strangely and sat on the opposite couch. Her cheeks were flushed and a light layer of snowflakes rested on her rather sensible-looking hat (By sensible, I mean it was OUTRAGEOUSLY unattractive). Clearly, she had just come back from outside.

"Hello, Granger. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

She removed her scarf then, the watery particles falling to the ground, and placed them carefully on the table between us.

"First of all, Zabini, this is the _common room_, not your personal lair. Second of all, I wanted to know if you could tell me about yesterday's supper? The orb?"

I sighed, not really wanting to get into the dark and dirty details.

"It's a bit complicated", I answered vaguely.

She stared at me then with one of her 'I know what you're trying to do and don't think for a second that I'll fall for it' looks.

She answered, also tactfully, "I've got time."

Clearly, I had no choice but to divulge _everything._

"Alright… Well, do you remember the row I had with Malfoy last Christmas? During the last supper?"

Her eyes widened with recognition. "Yes, of course...You two weren't being all that …_discreet_…"

In other words, Malfoy and I had partaken in _quite _the shouting match.

"Yes, well. If you listened, well, even if you tried NOT to listen, you **must **have heard what he said about my mum right?"

Her cheeks coloured with acknowledgement and so I continued.

"Well, what he said was rather uncalled for-"

"_Uncalled for_, Zabini? If I remember correctly, you _did _call his father a "worthless piece of pompous shit who couldn't even properly duel a group of children with the total intelligence and magical ability of a…. of a…." She looked at me, questioningly.

"Of a blind, deaf, and dumb warthog during mating season…" I finished in a droll voice.

"Yes! So when he retaliated by calling your mother a-"

"_Let's_ not go there, shall we Granger?" I said, not wanting to bring up a series of rather _uncomfortable _and entirely _inappropriate _phrases.

"All right, but you cannot say that his retaliation was _uncalled for_… You _did_ provoke him, Zabini."

"I know! I know! But still. One cannot talk about mothers in such a way. I mean, has society degraded itself that far? Will there no longer be a day when the word "mum" evokes a sense of love and respect? Will humanity allow such a lovely term to be so tarnished? So disgraced? So utterly, irrevocably _polluted_? So inconceivably, _**catastrophically**_-"

"ZABINI!"

"Oh, sorry. Just got so wrapped up in the whole 'mum' situation. Anyhow, I was rather angry with him for saying such things…_So _angry, that I've been, well, _planning_…Planning a way to get revenge."

I looked up at her then, but she seemed rather unphased by where I was going.

"So, I went to the library to seek out some advice and I did come across this lovely book entitled-"

"Revenge & Retribution for the Righteously Enraged?", she asked in a knowing voice.

"Yes, that's the one. And so- Wait a moment…How did you know that?"

She sighed then, crossing her arms. "Zabini, I've practically read _every_ book in the library. I ran across _that _rather questionable piece of 'literature' in third year."

"Oh. Alright, then. So, after reading it, I decided to use an-"

"Let me guess, an attribute-removal spell?", she asked, sounding rather bored.

"Well, yes. Wait, HOW did you know that?" I asked, unable to keep the amazement out of my voice.

She shrugged sheepishly, "I just figured that's what you would go for… It's very Slytherin, hence, very you."

"Oh." I answered glumly, rather disappointed that my tale wasn't as shocking as I thought it was.

"Well…shall I continue then?"

"Yes, yes of course." _Granger can be SO bloody aggravating._

"Are you sure? Don't you want to tell me _which _attribute I stole and _what _I intend to do with it?" I asked, a bit peeved by her nonchalance. To be quite honest, I was expecting some screams, shrieks, and a whole lot of "You conniving, little BASTARD!" Instead, I got _this. _

She huffed a bit then and responded, "Pardon me, Zabini, but it isn't MY fault that YOU are thoroughly PREDICTABLE!"

I was enraged. "Predictable? PREDICTABLE? HOW AM I _BLEEDING_ PREDICTABLE? I'VE WAITED A WHOLE BLOODY YEAR FOR THIS! I HAVEN'T RUSHED IT! I HAVEN'T DONE _ANYTHING_ YOU RASH AND BOORISH GRYFFINDORS WOULD HAVE DONE!"

She smiled then, her eyes glinting with a victory I didn't even know was at stake.

"MY POINT **PRECISELY**, ZABINI! Every move you've made is **Slytherin**. Waiting a whole year. _Slytherin. _Consulting a bloody book about revenge. _Slytherin. _Using a rather slick attribute-removal spell. _Slytherin._"

I stared at her. Stunned. Completely flabbergasted by the _truth _to her words.

She continued on. "If you _truly _wanted to get your revenge, you should have done it the _Gryffindor_ way. You should have lashed out right then! You should have been 'rash'! You should NOT have waited a bloody _millennium_ to enact it! You should-"

I woke up from my catharsis. "I get it, Granger. I should have had the balls."

She smirked at me and softly responded, "Yes. You should have."

I sighed, unhappy with my current state-of-affairs. I did not endure Malfoy's punch to the jaw for NOTHING.

"If you don't mind me asking, what did you steal? Which trait?" She asked, the curiosity ringing clearly in her voice.

"His bloody wit."

Silence ensued.

I opened my eyes then, wondering where the ever-chatty Granger had got to. But she was still there and I swear I could see her abnormally large brain processing the piece of information I had just given her.

"His _wit?_"

"The one and only", I replied drily.

She shifted in her seat then, curling her legs beneath her. "And what do you plan to do with it?"

I leaned back into the couch, getting ready to throw myself a pity party- No. A pity EXTRAVAGANZA!

"I don't know… That was sort of my dilemma…. I have his wit and all, but I have no idea what to do with the blazing thing."

She leaned back in her couch as well and I wondered what the 'brains' of Harry Potter & Co. was thinking about. _Don't think that I don't know she's smart. She's brilliant, really…After all, she's the only member of that godforsaken trio that actually an ounce of intelligence…It's just… well, it's Granger… And since when do Granger and I collaborate over plans for retribution? Since when are we even civil to each other? Since when did we actually acknowledge each others' presence?_

Before I could continue my thought-provoking line of questioning, Granger shot out of her leisurely position, her knees almost banging into the small table between us.

"Are you quite all right, Granger? You look rather…psychotic…"

She ignored my less-than-cordial comment and practically shrieked, "Zabini! Give it to me! Your revenge will be earned _triple-fold_!"

I backed up then, wondering if the years of poring over and sniffing ancient volumes of magical literature had finally affected Granger's sanity.

"Uh, Granger? What are you talking about?" I asked hesitantly.

She was fairly hopping up and down with excitement. "His wit! Malfoy's _sodding_ wit! If you give it to me, I too can have my revenge on him! He won't know what hit him, Zabini… He's probably _expecting _something from your end right about now… But if **I** have his wit, and if **I** attack him using his own bloody _weapon_, well then-"

"Genius", I whispered. Her plan was absolute GENIUS. It was perfect for me… Virtually untraceable… He would have no bloody idea… And Granger… Lord, she probably wants him _dead…_I **know **she'd play her part well…

"Granger, you do know you are the most Slytherin _non-Slytherin_ I have ever had the pleasure of conniving with?" I stated, my words dripping with flattery.

"Oh, shut it, Zabini…" was her polite response, but she looked rather mollified all the same.

"So, I give you his wit. You use it against him. He has _no clue _that I'm the perpetrator. And voila! Revenge accomplished."

She smiled at me then and held out her hand. "Do we have an accord then, Zabini?"

I stared at her hand, wondering what the hell she wanted me to do with it.

She sighed, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "It's Muggle custom, Zabini. Just shake it."

I timidly took her hand and well, _shook it._

She laughed and said, "All right, this is getting way to weird. I'll see you later, Zabini."

"Later, Granger."

Who knew that I, Blaise Zabini, would find the perfect accomplice, the perfect _partner-in-crime_, in the overly righteous, Golden Girl of Gryffindor, Hermione Granger?

* * *

_Taptaptap._

_Taptaptap._

_TAPTAPTAP!_

"ARGH!"

I fell right out of bed and onto my arse. _What is that bloody interminable RACKET?_

_TAPTAPTAP!_

There it was again. I unraveled myself from my blankets and stumbled towards the window.

It was an owl. A rather…unattractive owl. Its feathers were all ruffled about and it clearly had seen better days. I opened the latch and let it in. It flew in, dropped a package on my bed, and promptly flew into my bookshelf.

The poor bird was really so pathetic. I turned back to the package and looked at the return address.

_Jannigan & Jockibell's Jewlery_

_14 Supton Lane_

_Hogsmeade_

Ah… Pansy's gift. I placed it on my armoire, a tortuous knot developing in my stomach. I walked toward the bird, which still seemed to be in a comatose state. I gently picked it up and it turned its head, indicating that despite appearances, it was well enough alive.

I stroked through its grey and charcoal feathers, contemplating the whole Pansy ordeal. Contrary to _some _individuals' beliefs, I am _not _a blithering idiot. And I am quite aware that what I feel for Pansy is more than friendship…But, the fact that she's been with so many people really, really hurts. I just can't be with someone who makes herself so…_dispensible_… All right, that was rather cruel for me to say, but it had to be said.

I walked over to the window and released the owl, watching it flap its wings tiredly.

_I know exactly how you feel mate, I know exactly how you feel._

* * *

_Fucking idiot! Fucking Zabini! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! _

Contrary to what he had expected, a full night's rest had not lessened the 'intensity' of the shiner Zabini had given him. His normally clear, pallid cheeks now sported a patch of purple, blue, and green bruising. _Perfect. Just perfect. _And to make matters worse, he had a pounding headache, as though someone was sporadically drilling holes throughout his skull. And thinking of that image made Draco grimace. He had once seen such an atrocity at a Death Eater gathering. They had used the Imperius curse on a former Ministry member… The poor man never stood a chance. Draco shook his head and splashed cold water onto his face. _I can't deal with this. I need this fixed. NOW._

"Oi! PANS! Get your arse here right NOW!"

And like the trained puppy that she was, Pansy came running in, her cheeks flushed.

"What's wrong Draco-"

He swiveled around so she could see what was so obviously wrong with him at that moment.

"Oh... my… I-I see the swelling hasn't gone down yet…"

He shook his head. "CLEARLY. Now, could you _do _something about it?"

She looked hesitant, but answered, "I suppose so."

She walked over to him and raised her hand to his jaw. He flinched away, and held her wrist captive.

"You better not hurt me, Pans." His stormy eyes focused on her violet ones. And then his voice became lower, hoarser. "You won't hurt me, will you?"

She smiled up at him, her heart pounding in all the good ways when he had grasped her wrist. "Don't be silly… You know I could never hurt you."

He released her wrist then and watched as she reached up again, softly prodding the bruised area. "It doesn't seem too bad. A simple healing spell with a really minor glamour charm should do the trick."

She raised her wand then and whispered the words. He watched her mouth the words, her pouty lips glistening slightly. Draco felt a wave of mild heat pass over his cheek, followed by a tinge of coldness. He turned to the mirror and was incredibly relieved to see his cheek looking quite normal again.

He turned to Pansy and pulled her in an embrace. "Thanks, Pans. I knew I could count on you."

She beamed up at him and he leant down, placing his lips over her moist ones. _God she feels so good. _He sucked on her lower lip a bit, pulling it out a bit. And like every other time, Pansy fully responded. She slid her palms up his arms and let them knot together at the back of his neck. She felt his hand move across the expanse of her blouse, from her curve of her hips to right under her breast. And his hand fanned out then, his thumb caressing the soft curve of her breast. He pulled her closer then, flush against him, and dominated the kiss, nipping and sucking at her lips. He ended the exchange with a soft kiss on her mouth. He released her reluctantly, craving her softness. _God… I really needed that…_

He turned back to face the mirror, watching her blush prettily, her violet eyes still darkened.

"Hey, Pans, are you going with anyone to the dance? I was planning on going stag, but if you're free, we should go together." He looked up at her in the mirror, knowing full well that she had planned to go with Zabini.

She wrung her hands a bit, but was all smiles a moment later. "No, I'm free. So we're going together?", her voice rose with excitement.

"Looks like it. I'll pick you up, say seven?"

"Sounds perfect, see you then Draco." And she practically skipped out of his room.

_That'll show Zabini._

* * *

I had just gotten out of the shower, the towel wrapped cozily around my hips, when she ran in.

"Blaise! Blaise!"

"Jesus, Pansy! What happened?!"

"You'll never believe what happened today." _Oh, botheration! What now? What could possibly go wrong NOW?_

"Just tell me, Parkinson…"

She crossed her arms and pouted. "Fine! Draco asked me out!! He asked me if I wanted to go to the dance with him!!"

And something inside of me sunk to the floor, a dull thud reverberating in my ears.

"And what did you say?" I whispered, my voice strained.

"What do you THINK I said?! This is what we've been waiting for! All of our plans finally worked out! He wants me, Blaise! He wants me!"

And she pulled me into an embrace that was so pathetically disheartening, I could barely stand it.

"Wow, Pans. Congrats! You deserve it, definitely." _Don't ask me how I could have said that. I can't even understand it myself._

"Oh, thanks Blaise! I feel terrible though, about leaving you alone tonight."

"No, no. It's fine… It's a good thing this happened, actually. I've been feeling rather off all morning, so this is good, trust me."

Her forehead wrinkled up a bit then. "So you're not coming?"

"Ah, I don't know, Pans… No… I don't think I will… My stomach's been killing me, you know?"

She bit her lower lip. _I love it when she does that…_"I suppose... I'll bring you something before I leave though. Some soup, maybe?"

I could barely keep up the charade. "Yeah, sounds great. See you later, Pans."

"Bye, Blaise." And she walked out of the room, humming that lullaby my mum used to sing to me.

I looked over at the package on top of my armoire.

"Accio package!" Her gift zoomed into my hands and I began ripping off the wrappings, feeling all sorts of things. Betrayal? Anger? Loathing? _Crushed? _

I held the midnight blue case in my hands, my fingers spread across its soft, velvety exterior. And then I opened the latch.

_The Saethera pendant._ It was beautiful. And it was Pansy.

And without thinking about anything, I hurled the thin box at the wall. The necklace sprung out from the case and smashed against the stone surface, the splintered shards quivering on the floor.

I have to admire Draco Malfoy. Not for his money, his connections, or even his wit.

But for his ability to hurt, to damage, to utterly destroy.

He must have known what I felt for Pansy before _**I**_ had even realized it. And he had taken that information and had twisted it against me.

I slumped back onto my bed, praying that Granger would make him _burn_ tonight.

* * *

…seven hours later…

* * *

Hermione frowned as she read the letter. _So Zabini isn't showing up tonight…That's fine. I can handle this on my own._

She opened the pouch that had accompanied his note and removed the bottle. She could see the orb bouncing against the glass walls. _Just like a snitch. _She carefully removed the cork stopper and pointed her wand inside the tube. The orb automatically siphoned into her wand. Hermione then pointed her wand at herself and whispered, "Ex corporum!" And the orb shot out of the tip of her wand and into her gut. She felt the power rush through her body in tiny waves. After a few minutes, her body returned to its normal patterns and Hermione sat loosely on her bed, just breathing. _That wasn't too horrible…Really thought the whole experience would have been… well… more __**slimy…**_

She stood up then and walked over to the mirror. _I don't look any different, or feel-_ And that's when she felt it. A surge of heat running through her tongue. _Powerful… I feel __**powerful**_… She laughed then, wondering if she had imagined the whole thing.

"Really, Hermione. Get a grip on yourself", she muttered. She picked up her dress which was lying limply on top of her bed. She slipped off her worn bathrobe and let the silky, red fabric glide over her body. Ginny hadn't lied. The dress was definitely worth the galleons. She glanced at her hair then and grimaced. Though the frizziness had been somewhat tamed over the years, her curls were more riotous than ever. She used Sleekeazy's Smoothing crème to give her curls some shape and shine. Her ringlets framed her face beautifully, but it still seemed so…_plain_…She bit her lip pensively, staring at her reflection in the mirror. _Something's missing… I need something more…_And like the other day, Hermione Granger had a moment of genius. _A barette. _She shoved her discarded robes off of her armchair and transfigured it into a chrysanthemum-shaped barette. The petals of the bloom were made out of interlacing vibrant rubies and deep pink crystals. _It's beautiful…Don't know how I managed to transfigure __**that **__out of a bloody armchair…_ And she grinned. She placed the bejewled accessory in her hair, allowing it to pull back some of her curls. It was perfect.

Now, normally, Hermione would have foregone make-up. But tonight was going to be different. Tonight she was going to make Draco Malfoy _pay. _And she wanted to look flawless as she did so. Using her observations of Ginny and Lavender as tutorials, she began applying the dreaded stuff. She used her pinky to dust gold shimmer across her eyelids, placing more at the indent of her eye. She used Muggle eye-liner to outline the shape of her olive-shaped eyes, the black penciling enhancing her caramel irises. And lastly, she used a glamour charm to rouge her lips lightly. And the effect was… _satisfying _to say the least. _I look… quite nice actually…Not bad at all…_And she laughed again, wondering when she had become as vain as to have mental conversations about her looks. She walked out of her quarters then and paused outside of Zabini's door.

She knocked on the door softly.

"Zabini? Are you there?"

But all she heard was silence.

She shrugged and moved on, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walked towards the Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was quietly seething. _I TOLD her that I would pick her up at SEVEN. It's a bloody QUARTER to EIGHT and Parkinson has YET to show herself! Ugh! Malfoy, you idiot! You should have just let her go with that stupid ponce!_

He released a strangled sigh then and bellowed, "PANSY PARKINSON, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE, RIGHT _BLOODY_ NOW!"

He turned to the fireplace, hoping the regular patterns of the flames could calm him down. He heard the "click" of her heels and he whirled around, ready to spout some very, _very, _angry words. But the words never left his mouth. His icy, grey eyes widened. _God… she looks so beautiful…God…Pansy's going to break hearts tonight…_

He smirked at her. "Glad you finally decided to stop primping yourself."

She smiled shyly and gave him her hand. "I'm glad you finally decided to ask me out again."

He stiffened involuntarily, wishing she had not let those words escape.

He turned to her then and grasped her shoulders softly. "Look Pans, we're going together just as friends right?"

Her face fell but she quickly smacked on a pathetic smile. "Of course! I know that. Let's go then, shall we?"

_I don't believe her for a second… Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! You should never have kissed her… You should have just let her go with that moron… Shit. SHIT!_

He looked down at her then, saw her looking up at him expectantly, and he finally answered her. "Yeah, let's go."

And the two walked out of the Slytherin portrait hole and towards the Great Hall.

* * *

What? Have you forgotten about me? ME! Blaise Zabini! WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WHO'S THAT'? I'm the _BLEEDING _ STORY-TELLER! Without ME, this bloody story wouldn't bloody EXIST.

Anyhow (I've decided to be mature about this and IGNORE the fact that you all have IMPERTINENTLY forgotten about me!), whilst all of _that _was going on, I was going through quite a terrible time. Pansy had left me feeling quite ill… I needed to tell her how I felt…. I don't think I could tell her face-to face… I'm not _that _brave… I walked over to my desk and sat on the chair. _Time to write a love letter, Blaise. _And I immediately winced. Me? Writing a bloody _love _letter? No bloody way. And so, I did something very childish, but still rather…_helpful_. I vented. On paper.

"Dear Pansy,

I hate you. I hate you SO much right now. How can you keep on taking Malfoy's shit? You know he's just using you. The only thing ANYONE ever does to you is _use you_. Why won't you stop them? Why won't you listen to me? Why don't you fucking stand up for yourself? You're their bleeding DOORMAT, Pansy. That's what they all do. They just rub their shit on you and you accept it. No protests. Why?

And me? God, I'm so fucked up right now Pansy. I thought we were just friends. Best friends. But I want more. Despite everything. Despite everyone who's fucked you, I still want you. Despite the fact you're letting fucking MALFOY use your body. Despite the fact I know that you'll never give up on him. Despite the fact I will always be _just_ a friend to you. Despite the fact **I'm **the one who has to put you back together when Malfoy breaks you again tonight.

Despite it all, I think I love you. And right now, it's killing me. You're killing me. And there's nothing I can do about it. _Nothing_."

I dropped the quill than, my hand shaking from the force I had used to write that letter. It was messy, ink-splattered, and uncharacteristically _honest._ This is how I feel. This is what she makes me feel….

_God… I'm so fucking STUPID! How could I fall in love with her? How could I let that happen?_

I crumpled up the letter then and threw it against the wall. It ricocheted lightly and fell amongst the pieces of broken crystal.

I stumbled towards the bed, just worn out by the whole day. I barely got the blankets over me when my eyes fell closed, completely spent.

* * *

_Who the fuck is that? God, I want her. _Malfoy gazed longingly at her back, wondering how the dress stayed up. It was completely backless, the fabric resting snugly across her hips and down her legs. Her skin looked so smooth. It was milky white, a single beauty mark marring the plain of flawless porcelain. _Who is that? _He heard her laugh then, a rich laugh that left his fingers tingling. He wanted to feel her throat as she laughed. She turned her head slightly then, but he still couldn't make out her profile. Her glorious, chocolate curls shielded her face from his view.

"Draco!"

"Hmm?", he asked, his attention focused _elsewhere_.

"Could you get me something to drink? I'll be back in a few moments, just need to tell Milly something."

"Yeah, sure."

Draco vaguely heard Pansy's heels click away from him, but he stood in place.

The _girl_ must have said something funny to her circle of friends because the entire group broke out in loud laughter.

Curiosity rooted itself deep within Draco's mind and he would give Galleons to learn _who_ she was and _what_ she had just said.

He walked closer to her circle, skirting along the walls. He analyzed her friends then, hoping that would give a clue to her identification. _Some Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs…mostly Gryffindors…That's intriguing…A Gryffindor beauty? Now, that's something I haven't seen before…Probably a 6__th__-year…_

He made out some of her words: "hippogriff", "hot peppers", "lemon tart"…He strained to hear more, but the group broke out in raucous laughs _again._

_What the fuck is going on?…_He grabbed a flute of sparkling cider and positioned himself, directly behind the girl. The 7th year Slytherins quickly formed a circle around him, and Malfoy relaxed. His back was inches from her bare skin, but no one could accuse him of eavesdropping. After all, it looked like he was talking amongst his own circle, not intently listening to the chatter happening directly behind him.

After saying a couple of things to his crowd, he tuned out, his ears perking up at her voice.

"…So, when Snape asked if me if I knew how dangerous it was to place the vial of dragon's blood so near the flask of phoenix ash, I could _barely_ stop myself from asking if _he _knew just how harmful it was to place _his _ridiculously slimy, permanently greasy, INTERMINABLY oily hair so near _my_ lit cauldron!" And the group broke out in laughter once more.

Draco choked on his cider, his eyes watering a little. Crabbe gave him a weird look, but then continued gobbling up his chocolate éclair. _She's rather…witty…_ And he unconsciously leant back, trying to hear more of what she said.

"…Remember when I got into that strop with Trelawney? Well, I ran into her a few minutes ago and she told me to beware of a vast darkness approaching me. And so I asked her, 'What? Is Goyle around the corner?'"

Malfoy tilted his head back, unable to contain his laughter. Unknowingly, his shoulder connected with her head. _Shit, she's funny…Who the hell is sh-_

But his thoughts were interrupted by two hard pokes to his shoulder blades. He whirled around only to see _her _smirking at him. He took in her shiny curls, her iridescent caramel eyes, her red mouth, and her clingy dress.

"Granger?", he asked, disbelief written all over his face. _No fucking WAY._

She smiled at him sweetly, "No. Your Auntie Bellatrix."

He felt the blood leave his cheeks. Whispers fluttered through the group behind her, a low whistle reached his ears.

He made to turn back then, but the foreign hand grasping his arm stopped him. He followed the dark red-lacquered nails to the pale, milky arm, up her slender neck, and to her face.

He looked at her stiffly and asked, "Why is your hand on me, Granger?"

She laughed then, mimicking him, " 'Why-is-your-hand-on-me-Granger?' Hmmm… Maybe because I'm waiting for an apology."

His eyes widened even more then, the rushing sound in his ears reaching deafening levels.

"An _apology_?", he whispered, tight-lipped.

She barely heard the words. "Yes, an apology."

"For what, may I ask?", he asked, his teeth clenched together.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't want you to apologize for calling me a Mudblood every other day, or for your sweet Auntie Bellatrix who greets me with a lovely 'Avadra' whenever I have the _pleasure_ of encountering her, or even for your excuse of a father who deserves to be rotting away in Azkaban but instead, is serving solitary confinement in the comfort of gilded cage for a measly fifty years. No. I don't need _those _apologies quite yet. I do, however, want you to apologize for _yourself. _All I was doing was innocently entertaining my friends.-" Her voice sharpened here. "-But you and abnormally large ego just happened to knock into me, preventing me from finishing a rather hilarious anecdote. And now, because of your clumsiness, _that_ story's wasted. I'll take that apology now, Malfoy_._" Hermione calmly stated, addicted to the soft thrumming in her tongue, addicted to the salty taste of wit.

Draco felt as though all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Her words slowly burned through and Draco wished she would stop. He wished he could shut her up. But as each word fell from her mouth, dripping with venom, he found himself oddly immobilized. Her words shocked him to the core. He couldn't believe that she had the gall to say those things about him, no less, his _father_. He breathed through his nose, slowly, his hand twitching for his wand.

She laughed then, her hand resting lightly on her hip. "What, Malfoy? Has the Mudblood rendered you speechless?" And again, he heard the whispers around, felt all of those eyes focusing on him. And that's when he felt it, a soft hand slipping into his own, but he couldn't even turn around to see who it was. Granger's words had ossified his body. Instead, he watched as a body came into his peripheral vision, a goddess clothed in silvery robes. _Pansy._

"Oh, shut up Granger. You may be _pathetic_ enough to know everything about Potions, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and every other damned class you've had the misfortune to stuff yourself into, but do NOT pretend to **know** Draco. Do not pretend to **know** ANY of us."

Hermione felt her eyes narrow, a hot, fiery anger coursing through her blood.

She focused on Malfoy, her tongue sharp enough to kill. "I'm appalled, Malfoy. Since when do you have your _whores_ protecting you? One would think that Crabbe and Goyle would have been sufficient enough."

Malfoy watched a blur of white flash by his eyes. And then all hell broke loose. Pansy had leapt onto Granger, knocking her down. Granger's friends tried to get the Slytherin off, but no one could stop Pansy. He ran over to her, hoping to pull her away, but a wave of warmth passed through him, and his hands hung limply towards the floor, trying to reach Pansy. He looked at Granger then. Her hair was disheveled, her dress hiked up to her thigh. One of her hands was fisted in Pansy's hair, the other on the Slytherin's arm, trying to remove the nails that were currently digging into her upper arm. She sported several scratches on her cheeks, scratches an angry kitten would have given. Draco locked eyes with Granger, hoping she knew that he would destroy her. She had said many things tonight. Things he would never forget. Things he would make her regret.

Draco closed his eyes, his lids feeling abnormally heavy. He processed the warm waves flowing through his body and he intuited that someone had placed an immobility spell on them. One minute later, a cold sensation slipped down his back and he opened his eyes. Everyone moved slowly out of the spell, fixed their dresses and robes, and stood upright. The headmaster, Snape, and McGonagall made rounds, making sure everyone was okay. He stood still, and wrapped his arm around Pansy, who had swiftly extricated herself from Granger's limbs. Granger turned to her group, whispering furiously to Potter and Weasely, both of whom had just walked in.

Slowly, the students siphoned into the ballroom, he and Pansy trailed the back of the line. As they were about to go through the doors, McGonagall stopped them.

She looked at them, her eyes flashing furiously, "Where do you think you are going Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Parkinson? I hope you aren't under the misconception that there aren't any consequences for your reprehensible actions." She nudged them back towards the room where the headmaster and Snape were waiting with Granger, Potter, and Weasely.

The headmaster looked at Draco for a moment and then addressed the whole group. "Your peers have informed me that you, Ms. Granger, and you Mr. Malfoy, had a heated argument, which later, you, Ms. Parkinson, joined." The three nodded their heads, dismally.

"I am disappointed in all of you. Ms. Granger, as Head Girl, you should have known better. Ms. Parkinson, I understand that you're going through some demanding times now, but that is no excuse for this type of behavior."

Draco's head shot up. _What? What's going on with Pansy?_

Dumbledore then turned to him and said, "And you, Mr. Malfoy. I know that you have a _very_ difficult decision to make, a decision that even I would loathe to make…I understand that you're feeling very angry now, righteously so, but you cannot interact with your fellow students in such an explosive manner. This type of behavior is simply unacceptable."

Draco saw the Golden Trio's heads shoot up. _Fucking idiots don't know a thing. They don't know ANYTHING._

The headmaster turned to face them all then. "And so, as you may have expected, you three will not be allowed into the ballroom."

The guilty perpetrators nodded again.

"You may go back to your respective quarters."

He and Pansy turned together towards the west corridor, and the other three left together through the east. Draco turned back at the last minute, as did Granger. He looked at her, his grey eyes completely glacial.

He would get his revenge. There was no doubt about it.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello all! And the Dramione has begun! What do you think of it?

Oh, the next chapter (and a lot of the following chapters) has explicit sexual content, and I understand that that sort of writing is not allowed on . So, you can find At Wit's End **Uncut** on Coloured Grey

Please review


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